Hawkeye: The Beginning
by yzzi2015
Summary: Au: 19 year old Clint Barton is tired of the life he is leading as an assassin. So when a mysterious agent shoots him and gives him an offer. Will he take it? Or is this offer too good to be true?... Rated T, but that may change. The avengers are a main part of the story. Full, disclaimer: I own none of the characters or places that you recognise in this story.
1. Prologue

Hi guys, I don't know if anyone is reading this but this is my first story so please be nice. I welcome any constructive criticism, but pleased be warned that flames will be used to bake cookies. :)

This story is an au, where Clint has not yet joined the Avengers (he is a freelance assassin), and he is only 19, whereas the rest of the Avengers are:

Iron Man (Tony Stark) – 35

Captain America – 29

Black Widow – 29

Dr Banner – 38

The Battle of New York and Loki still happened, but Clint was not involved.

I do not plan on there being any romantic pairings in this story, but I will let you know if that changes.

I rated this story T, but for language and other things, and I will try to give individual warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

Please enjoy:_

Warnings: Some bad language and mild violence

Prologue:

 _Clint ran, pushing through the crowded streets as his assailant grew closer. He cursed. How had they found him? He had been careful to leave no trace of himself in his previous apartment, and had gone to great, expensive measures to ensure that he we would not be tracked any further than into the next town. Yet they had still managed to find him. Shoving an old man into the road as he twisted round a corner, Clint heard the agents shout "STOP, Clinton! We only want to talk!"_

 _Clinton? They knew his name. How the hell did they know his name? That name had been buried deep for many years, and even before that Clint had always referred to himself as 'Hawkeye' when with clients. After all, what struck the most fear into people's hearts? Clint Francis Barton the 19 year old carnie, or Hawkeye - the elusive, deadly, world famous assassin. Yet despite Clint's constant secrecy, this man knew his real name. Not good. Very not good. What else did they know about him? If the man knew his name, it was likely that the man also knew about Clint's past. Pushing the thought from his mind, Clint checked behind him and swore – the man was still following. This man was good, as were the others that had come before him, chasing him round the world, each country bringing a new man to run from. The brutal determination these men showed, each and every time, in tracking Clint, made him even surer that they would not be friendly when they eventually caught up with him._

 _As to who they were; Clint had no idea. All he knew was that, while returning to his safe house a few months ago, he had noticed an armed man in a suit following him. Not one to take risks, Clint had fled the country (Italy), taking nothing with him but his compound bow (surprisingly easy to sneak through airport security) and a wallet full of fake IDs. Unfortunately, this hasty departure had not been enough to shift whoever was following him; in every country, city and town Clint visited, he saw a suited man, watching his every move. Whoever these men worked for REALLY wanted to catch him. But Clint wasn't one to comply._

 _Clint figured he was probably being followed by the CIA, or some other American organisation, although these people seemed far superior to those bumbling idiots. Maybe some big criminal group? The kind of organisation led by people with big money and dead hearts who wanted him to do a job for them. Well, either wanted a job done or wanted him dead. Being a well-known assassin tended to bring that kind of negative attention._

 _"Shit, shit, shit!" Clint swore hysterically. He hadn't been paying attention to the direction he was running in, just wanting to get away from the suited man and his VERY big gun. Unluckily, that lack of attention had led to him being cornered in a dark alley, in the backstreets of London, with no escape as the mysterious suited man closed in. Clint looked up in despair. Well… almost no escape. As the man grew ever closer, Clint jumped up, reaching upwards to grab hold of a broken fire escape. With both his hands manically gripping the rail, he pulled his body taught to swing himself up and onto the railing. Having managed this with ease, he made a daring escape away from the alley, leaving the suited man alone and angry._

 _Or at least… that was how it was MEANT to go. In reality it happened slightly different: As Clint pulled his body taught to swing himself upwards, the suited man pulled his gun out and fired twice. He missed. Or so Clint thought. A second of shock as the truth sank in, then burning, overwhelming pain as it truly registered. Collapsing to the floor, Clint grunted in pain. The bastard had shot him in both legs._

 _Not one to be set back by a mildly crippling injury, Clint pulled himself up using his bow for support. After briefly getting his balance, Clint made a wide, desperate swing for the suited man's head. At the same moment, a wave of nausea washed over him, and Clint missed the man, spinning wildly out of control and collapsing to the floor in an ungraceful, embarrassing pirouette. As Clint lay there, his vision blurring to darkness, he made out the distorted image of the suited man bending down to crouch by Clint's head. His words swimming as Clint slowly fell unconscious: "For the record, I didn't want to shoot you, however you just rather rudely ignored my attempts at negotiation, and keep running away. That kind of thing really makes my job tiresome."…_

 _And then darkness._


	2. Chapter 1

_Hi guys, sorry for the wait. Here is chapter 1. Let me know what you think, and please let me know if there are any errors - I will be happy to fix them! Remember, flames will be used to bake cookies for me and my imaginary friends. ;)_

 _Any questions? Just let me know in the reviews._

 _So... I just got a really helpful review from CrazedFangirl13. In response to what you said, here are my explanations: I originally had Clint wheeled in, in a wheel chair, however I deleted that copy and forgot to add it into my new copy. I have now changed that problem, so thank you so much for pointing it out. Also, I think that Clint would still show emotions - he is only 19, and his lack of experience with people males me think that despite his profession, he is not particularly skilled at hiding what he is feeling. On the other hand, if he is in denial about what he is feeling... well... that is a whole new thing altogether. Finally, I think that yes, Coulson would give out that much information - he is completely indenting for the boy to either be arrested or at least remain in SHIELD's custody for a long time. Therefore there is no risk of any information being revealed by Clint. But don't worry! - His name is quite literally ALL Coulson will reveal about himself for quite a while..._

 _Enjoy!_

 **Coulson's POV**

Phil sighed. He really hadn't wanted to shoot the boy – for that was all he really was, at the age of 19. When Phil had first been told the boy's age, he had thought Fury had got the age wrong. Not that it was like Fury to ever get anything wrong. But still, Phil had been shocked by how young the man was – barely older than a child. After all, the typical age of an assassin would be around 26 - 30. For Clinton to be on SHIELD's Top 10 Most Wanted list at the age of 19 was really quite an achievement. A shocking, saddening, amazing achievement. Seriously, if the child wasn't a trained killer, Phil would be all over him; begging Hawkeye to join their forces. As it was, the child was a threat to SHIELD, and so Phil's one responsibility with Clinton was to find out all available information (Name: Clinton Francis Barton, Age: 19, everything else: unknown), assess the threat, and act accordingly on the information he had gathered. As he had been thinking before, he honestly hadn't wanted to shoot Clinton, however the boy was completely non-receptive to Phil's attempts at a peaceful discussion. Shooting him in the legs had been the only way to stop the boy from running the second he saw Phil.

As he sat in the cramped interrogation room, with nothing but an iron table between him and the chair Clinton would soon be cuffed to for company, Phil waited. Hearing the sound of the door opening, Phil looked up. In front of him was a rather short, stocky boy of the mere age of 19. However despite his young age his haunting ice blue eyes held a maturity and tiredness that seemed too old for a 50 year old, let alone a man just out of his teens. That said, the rest of Clinton's appearance was quite youthful – the juvenile smirk, the dirty-blonde long messy hair (Phil would say it was just below his ears, to be precise) and the confident, natural way he sat, slouching disrespectfully in the wheelchair between the two men escorting him into the room. It seemed that Clinton was simply just another cliché example of – though it made Phil feel old to think it – the arrogance of youth. But still… those eyes. They unsettled him, and as Clint was wheeled further into the interrogation room, Phil found he could not meet the boy's defiant gaze. However that may have been more guilt at shooting the boy, rather than any intimidation.

Once the two guards had handcuffed Clinton's wheelchair to the table, opposite from where Phil was seated, Phil gestured for the men to leave. That left Clinton and Phil alone. "How are your legs?" Phil began, attempting to seem friendly. When he gained no response, he leaned back in his seat, thinking. For a few moments, the two of them sat in silence, each studying the other. For Phil, this allowed him time to run through his tactics for this interrogation. Pulling himself together, Phil began, trying to seem as serious and intimidating as possible.

"Well, Clinton, I don't want any shit out of you during this session. I expect you to answer my questions clearly and honestly, or else you'll be stuck in here for a very long time. Do I make myself clear?"

Clinton looked up, smirking at him as if to say 'seriously, that's all you got?' However the boy did not reply to Phil's question, leaving him not quite sure how to proceed. Weren't the people being interrogated supposed to be intimidated? Surely they were at least meant to do what they were told. To be completely honest, this skill had never been required of him before, and he had, had little time to look into it. Feeling deterred by Clinton's mocking lack of response, Phil decided to try another technique. Lifting up Clinton's file so he could read the small lettering more easily, Phil began to read it out loud:

"Let's take a look at your file then. Name: Clinton Francis Barton. Alias: 'Hawkeye'…" Phil looked up sharply as he heard Clinton mumble something under his breath. Leaning forward, he strained to hear what the man was saying.

"Clint. The name's Clint. No-one's called me Clinton since Barney."

So, Phil thought, the boy preferred to be called Clint instead of Clinton. At least he had learnt something. As he quickly noted this down on Clint's file, Phil nodded to the boy, to show that he had understood. Straightening up, this time confident that he would get somewhere with this, Phil continued.

"So, Clint, let us carry on." Clint looked up in surprise, clearly he had been expecting Phil to ignore such unimportant information. Smiling to himself, Phil carried on. "Now Clint, I am going to need you to fill in the blanks here. Living relatives: Unknown. Got any relatives hidden away from us?"

Clint looked at Phil strangely, as if what he had said was complete gibberish, then spoke clearly for the first time, allowing Phil to properly hear his Iowa accent. "Well Mr Agent, surely you don't expect me to just go giving away answers, with no answers in return? I gave my name, now give me yours." As he spoke, Clint gave a cocky grin, leaning back confidently in the iron chair. However, Clint's hands and feet gave the truth away; his hands shaking and clenching into fists and his right foot tapping nervously against the leg of the chair. The kid was terrified.

Deciding to humour the kid, and figuring that he could always give the boy false information, Phil gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment, then began to speak: "Well, my full name is Philip Hamish Coulson, although most of the agents at this facility know me as Agent Coulson. Is there anything else you would like to know?" Clint looked at Phil, then leaned back in his chair.

"Well…" the kid began, "I guess I would quite like to know which organisation has figured it would be a good idea to kidnap THE Hawkeye..." As Clint spoke, his voice grew louder and the kid attempted to stand up from the chair he cuffed to. Failing that, Phil watched as the boy settled back down and leaned threateningly towards him. "…As in Hawkeye, the assassin who can get through any security, kill any person, without ever being seen. You realise, I am also pretty famous for breaking out of every prison that has ever had the misfortune of holding me." The way Clint spoke of his criminal prowess bled arrogance and a detached kind of happiness. However, looking into the boy's eyes, Phil could see Clint was anything but happy with his current reputation. Disgusted, rather than proud. Sensing that now was a good time to strike, Phil decided to tell the kid what was really going on.

"5 weeks ago", Phil began, flipping through his notes to the correct page, "A man by the name of William H. Baxter was brought to our attention." Immediately, Phil could see how Clint straightened at the man's name. "There had already been a few small investigations into Mr Baxter, relating to some accusations of drug abuse and violence." As Phil spoke, Clint sank further down into his chair, picking at the cuffs round his wrists as he listened to Phil's words. "Well, anyway; 5 weeks ago it was reported that Mr Baxter had been attacked in a street near his apartment." Seeing Clint tense, and flinch away from Phil as he spoke, Phil continued. "Don't worry, we know it wasn't you. Strangulation and electrocution don't seem to be your thing. However we think you might know something about the man and his criminal activities. After all, he was your foster father for a good 5 years…


End file.
